


To Whom It May Concern

by blue_jean_baby_queen



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Gaby Is a Good Bro, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I also have a very hard time writing Illya for some reason, I love the gay spies, In a way, M/M, Might be slightly OOC, Napoleon writes the best formal love/goodbye letters in all of U.N.C.L.E., Pining, Pre-Relationship, Sadly there is nothing overly sexual about it (yet), The best in fact, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Waverly has the patience of a saint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 07:43:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6648502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_jean_baby_queen/pseuds/blue_jean_baby_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time you are reading this Napoleon Solo is dead.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>Illya has always known this day was going to come. After all politics are the same everywhere and what power the KGB has over him, even after month of employment with U.N.C.L.E., the CIA has over Napoleon tenfold.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Whom It May Concern

**Author's Note:**

> Plot bunny alert. I just thought it would be interesting to drabble what could possibly happen if the CIA ever wanted Solo back and Napoleon decided to disappear. 
> 
> So even though it might sound alot like it, nobody dies per se.
> 
> Also this was written on my phone so it's probably rushed and full of errors.
> 
> Warnings in the end notes.

Alexander Waverly is above all a very polite, rational and disciplined man. He really is.

However there's only so much uncontrolled yelling and unreasonable accusations any man can stand before he throws a punch. Kuryakin probably would have a long time ago and Waverly is slowly but surely beginning to understand the appeal of once in a while destroying something in a fit of rage.

For the past half hour Agent Sanders from the CIA already occupies the chair opposite of him and for probably three quarters of this time he's been yelling and cursing very colourfully. It doesn't look as if he'll exhaust himself any time soon.

"... and your poor control about the agents in your immediate service is only the very top of the top of this damn iceberg!" Sanders thunders. "It really goes to show how..."

"Agent Sanders! Please do calm down. My secretary already peeked in three times..."

"...HOW much of a complete FUCKING DISASTER this so called organisation..." 

"... she is getting concerned."

Sanders jumps up from his chair. He is about to leap across this writing desk and attack him, Waverly sees it in his face.

"...REALLY IS. YOU SHOULD REALLY..." 

"SANDERS!"

Sanders inhales again probably tell Waverly exactly what he should really, but he doesn't get that far. Kuryakin has slipped into the office unnoticed and is now holding Sanders in a choke hold. The latter only manages a strangled gurgling, panic rising in his eyes as the seconds tick by.

Cruelly Waverly enjoys a few seconds of peace.

Then he remembers himself and instructs: "You can let go of him Agent Kuryakin. I'm sure he's remembered who and where he is and how do behave himself."

Illya then drops the CIA agent back into his chair, but only after briefly tightening his hold. Sanders rubs at his neck and gasps for air. Then he manages: "Do not insult me. It's you who lost him." 

"Lost who? Am I allowed to know what ruckus is all about?" Illya asks.

Waverly only sights. This is not going the way he intended it to go at all.  
"Have a seat Agent Kuryakin and have my secretary call Miss Teller while were all gathered here. It'll save me from repeating myself several more times today."He says, sounding exhausted.

"Sir?" Illya asks. "Pardon me but you do not make too much sense to me yet."

"This is about that lovely patner of yours, Kuryakin." Sanders chimes in aggressively.

"What about Solo?" Gaby Teller sounds from the door. "If this is about the fallout from the affair in Beijing, I already told you that it was my error. Solo had nothing to with it."

"And I'm convinced that this is true, Miss Teller." Waverly responds. "However it's not that simple." 

"More complicated then international miscommunication that could cost the UN their status?"

"What? What was this mission even about?" Sanders requests. "You know what? Nevermind. I don't care. Just tell them."

Waverly gestures for Gaby to take a seat. She does. Internally Waverly counts to three. He takes a deep breath and says: "Yesterday, as we now know, Agent Napoleon Solo disappeared from his flat taking most of his belongings with him and probably leaving the country. Today morning U.N.C.L.E. received a letter informing us that he in fact went into hiding."

Unsurprisingly Kuryakin's face remains static, he only betrays his reaction by clenching his fists until his knuckles are white and his hands are trembling with the tension of his muscles.  
Gaby's face is more expressive. It goes, Waverly notes, from shock to disbelief to disappointment to concern to anger in but a single second.

"Do we know what made him run?" She asks as soon as she's sure her voice is steady.

"It's in said letter, yes." Waverly tells his agents. 

Sanders is tapping his fingers on top of the table impatiently by now. It goes unacknowledged.

"May we read letter?" Illya managed, his accent notably more prominent.

Silently Waverly opens the top drawer of his desk and takes out a cream colored envelope. The paper is heavy, probably unreasonable expensive for a letter like this. It's so very much like Napoleon, Gaby thinks as Illya unclenchs his right fist to pick up the letter.  
She gets up to stand next to him as he takes the carefully folded, yet offending, piece of paper out and throws the envelope on top of the table.

"You don't have to read it now." She wispers. "Or here." 

"Is fine." Illya murmurs back. Secretly he's grateful for her concern. Not that he would admit it to her face. Not ever.

Then taking a deep breath he unfolds the letter and begins to read:

_  
To whom it may concern._

_By the time you are reading this Napoleon Solo is dead._

_There won't be a body to find because it will merely be an identity that has died. Nevertheless it will be a death and you may consider this letter my suicide note. It is the way i shall treat it._

_People write suicide notes inasmuch they have unfinished business.  
I too have unfinished business, some of it with people I care about and therefore this is my attempt at wrapping up said affairs._

_Some of the people I must apologise to and tell them that I will miss them desperately. You know who you are._

_Some of them I can only laugh at and the only sentiment that comes to mind is good riddance. You know who you are as well._

_To anybody priding themselves a spy it should be clear by now what motivated my decision. For anybody priding themselves falsely I shall spell it out:  
During our affair in Beijing I was approached by a lovely gentleman in a just as lovely back alley. Besides a strong leaning towards violent means in getting ones attention, he also had a more than clear message. Paraphrased he told me that the CIA wanted me back and it wouldn't be a time to look forward to._

_I can now admit that I was in fact scared of a continued employment with the company._  
_I know I'm not a honourable man. I'm far from it, indeed.  
However due to my basic understanding of human rights in the United States as well as my self preservation instinct I had to react. It pains me that my reaction had to be this drastic. ___

_It is not for a lack of faith in U.N.C.L.E. that I choose to disappear. I simply understand international power dynamics well enough by now to be able to calculate my chances of survival if I place my trust in an intelligence organisation and they are humble at best._

_I do wish there would have been another way. If there is I am incapable of imagining it and I can not afford to imagine any longer._  
Rest assured that I have not rushed my decision and I believe to understand it's impact.  
Thus for the very last time: 

_Respectfully yours,_

_Napoleon Solo_

_PS: I hated working with you, Peril.  
_

 

It takes Gaby's gentle touch to his arm for Illya to realise that the is crumbling the expensive paper in his fist. When he looks up Waverlys forehead is wrinkled in concern and Sanders looks unnerved, impatient at best.

Illya gets up, the sudden force tipping the chair over. The letter is still in his fist, he's not going to let go of it any time soon.

"Excuse me." He says to nobody in particular and turns to leave the office. When the door falls shut just a little bit too loud Waverly sights.

"Pleaso go after him, Miss Teller. Make sure nobody gets hurt." 

Gaby, who has gone very quite and pale, shoots up from her seat.

She finds Illya in the office that he and Napoleon share. Had shared, she corrects herself. If that doesn't sound painfully wrong. To call it completely destroyed would probably be the understatement of the century. The Russian has slumped against the wall, head on his knees, letter still in his very battered hand. It's a comical pose on a man as tall as him.

"You really love him, don't you?" The second it's out Gaby wants to take it back. Out of all the things to say she chose the single most insensitive one.  
"Excellent job, Teller" She chides herself.

But Illya doesn't get angry, he can barely be bothered to lift his head. Gaby decides to ignore the tears in his eyes, she feels she owes him this much.

"No use denying now." He breathes and it breakes Gaby's heart. 

"He loves you too, you know."

Gaby remembers the evening as if it has been yesterday. Napoleon had taken her out to a little bar in Nice just three month ago. He always knows them. The best bars. In every city they have been send to during their partnership he knew just the place to get a little bit too drunk and to dance a little bit to obnoxiously in.  
In this particular night in Nice however Napoleon had been desperate to work through a by all means horrible day and had gotten more than a little bit too drunk. 

Gaby had to drag him half way back to their hotel and when the unlike pair had collapsed onto a convenient bench on the seaside promenade, Solo had buried his face in her hair and had told her with the honesty of a child (or a drunk man) just how disappointed he was that Illya never joined them during evenings like this. 

Illya has yet to respond to her last statement, so Gaby sits down next to him, mindful of the shattered glass on the ground around them, takes Illyas hand and makes him a promise: "We'll find him. He's a terrible spy after all."

**Author's Note:**

> I might consider writing a sequel or a prequel. Or both. I'm hooked.
> 
> Warnings: In his letter Napoleon compares going into hiding with suicide. So if that's a trigger for you please be careful.
> 
> Also like one swear word but who cares about that anyway?


End file.
